Well… there was this one part where A F***ING HAWK FLEW INTO THE RESTAURANT WHERE I WAS EATING, AND LANDED ON MY FOOD.

Yeah. really.

I was sitting at a window seat next to the open door, and my food had just been brought out. I looked down to see this guy (or gal – I don’t know hawks) just standing in the doorway, looking back and forth. After surveying the place for a few seconds, it flapped its way in and up onto one of the empty tables.

The guy working the counter came out, and we were both (slowly and carefully) snapping pictures with our phones. The hawk didn’t react to us apart from turning his head to look back and forth between us — even when said employee said:

“Man, you inna wrong place, bird! Dontchu know this a chicken joint?”

But after few more calm seconds, once we were just standing there trying to figure out what the hell to do next, the hawk leapt up and made a beeline through the air directly at yours truly. I executed what could only have been a remarkably awkward yell-and-dodge maneuver, and turned around to see it standing on my two-piece-with-side-and-soda combo, just chilling and looking out the window wistfully, as though a Sarah McLachlan song were playing in its head.

The hawk just sat there for a little while, getting jerk BBQ sauce all over its talons and looking all emo, until it was spooked by the restaurant’s delivery guy walking in, whereupon it shot past all of us into the kitchen.
The counter guy, the delivery guy and I heard a few pots clanging as we debated calling animal control versus just trying to shoo it back out the door, when one of the cooks who was back there caught the hawk with his bare hands, and walked it back outside.